


Silver Bells, and Cockle Shells (coda to Quite Contrary)

by x_los



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-12
Updated: 2008-04-12
Packaged: 2017-11-23 01:30:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x_los/pseuds/x_los
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yet more morning after fluff!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver Bells, and Cockle Shells (coda to Quite Contrary)

  
Title: Silver Bells, and Cockle Shells (coda to _[Quite Contrary](http://x-losfic.livejournal.com/3262.html#cutid1)_ )

Author: [](http://x-los.livejournal.com/profile)[**x_los**](http://x-los.livejournal.com/)  

Rating: PG

Pairing:  Ten/Simm!Master, girl!Doctor/girl!Master

Summary: Yet more morning after fluff!

A/N: request for [](http://order-of-chaos.livejournal.com/profile)[ **order_of_chaos**](http://order-of-chaos.livejournal.com/). Title from nursery rhyme "Mistress Mary, Quite Contrary," like the first one.

 

 

 

 

“Drive safe,” The Mistress mocked, sharing an eye roll with the Master. Ask either of them: the Doctor’s TARDIS piloting skills hadn’t markedly improved since he’d royally flunked the licensing test by crashing _through_ the dome and managing to veer into one of Gallifrey’s few remaining trees, as if drawn to the unfortunate silver oak by the sheer power of his mother’s (or her father's ) people’s stereotype.

The Doctors were trying to disguise a last minute make-out as a sort of bubbly chorus of regret at having to part, pinstripes clashing at odd angles as they got last gropes in. Narcissism had never looked so cute.

“Take good care of him,” she muttered into her counterpart’s ear, “He acts like nothing touches him, but he’s still the same girl who was so hurt when I didn’t ask her to be my lab partner she didn’t speak to me for a week and wouldn’t tell me what was wrong no matter how I pleaded.”

The Doctor snickered into her velvet brown hair, “And then after that he went around sabotaging all my other lab partners' projects or ruining their lives until they had to duck out of advanced temporal engineering because they were too over-stressed to finish out the semester? And he just kept on doing it until I asked him to work with me of my own accord? I remember! Thirteenth sophomore year was a killer.” The Doctor chewed his lip meditatively.

“Especially for that poor boy who lost an ear. The whole ‘laser hamster’ plan got way out of hand, though Koschei would never admit it. I didn’t even mean to reject him, I thought he _wanted_ to work alone, he’d said as much! Accused me of mucking up his research with my sloppy documentation, even! Said my logbook looked like a work of Outsider Art.”

“Well,” the female Doctor rolled her eyes, “For a proficient psychic and the most silver-tongued woman I’ve ever met, she’s surprisingly incapable of actual communication.”

“Truer words.” The Doctor chucked her under her chin. “And Doctor? Take good care of yourself.” He felt a soft weight come to rest on his shoulder and rolled his eyes. “Yes? Is our having a private farewell not to your liking? Should I take down dictation of everything we say? You want in on this scintillating ‘exchanging pleasantries’ action?”

“No, that won’t be necessary,” popped the Master from his perch on the Doctor, wrapping his arms around the front of other Time Lord, “Just do me some quick notes and add spice with some scandalous bits.” The Master splayed a hand over the Doctor’s stomach—he was too manic after sex to be content in one position for any length of time. “You’re too vanilla to have been discussing anything interesting initially, so make something up. Extra points for explicit details regarding either of you having made good use of that cricket bat back in the day. Or recently!”

                The Doctor rolled her eyes and crossed over to the console, where the Mistress had already set the coordinates, but not initiated the phase sequence (the Mistress could adjust settings all she liked, but every ‘go’ button was on isomorphic—the Doctor was a trusting woman, not a complete moron).

“Stand just there, ta.” The female Doctor grinned sunnily at them. “All our love to the next universe over!”

“What, no kisses goodbye?” The Mistress pouted, draping her arms over the console, tapping the metal in rhythm with her blood red painted nails and sighing theatrically, “But whatever will I have to remember you by?”

“The mirror?” The Master suggested, “It’s an identical reflection, except for how I’m better looking.”

“Yes,” the male Doctor drawled, “When I put you two next to each other, that’s the only observable difference. I don’t even notice the dangly bits.”

“Eugh,” the Mistress rolled her eyes, “You _wouldn’t_. Too busy whimpering about whatever I’ve done to injure your fragile sensibilities today.”

“I thought you liked the whimpering!” The female Doctor rolled her eyes and shifted their counterparts back through the dimensional barrier they’d come through with an adroit flick of what appeared to be a tasseled handlebar off a little girl’s bicycle. “In the future I’ll just keep silent, shall I?” She smacked her lips and headed out of the console room. “ _Yep_. Dead silence. I’d so _hate_ to be an inconsiderate partner.”

“Now Doctor, don’t get uppity! I never said I _disliked_ it!” The Mistress trailed out after her. “It’s charming! And the gaspy-shivery bit? I love the gaspy shivery bit! Dear? Are you just—stop ignoring me! Doctor? Doctor!”

"Oh sorry," the Doctor came back around a corner so suddenly that the Mistress nearly tripped over her, "I was just trying out the whole 'whimper-free' shebang. Not doing anything for you?"

"You," the Mistress put a hand on either side of the Doctor, fencing her in and pinning her to the wall, "are a stubborn berk."

"But I'm your stubborn berk," the Doctor amended, leaning up to peck the Mistress on the lips, "Now let's get away from Earth before something else--" the Doctor's sentence was interrupted by an unholy screech of metal ripping open, and she concluded rather lamely, in a tone rich with resignation, "...happens. Did that, er, sound like it was from inside the TARDIS to you?"

The Mistress winced. "Yeah. Yeah, it did."

_" _Dammit._ "_

 

The Mistress managed an almost sympathetic expression, and together they raced back down the corridor into the console room to try and determine what was wrong with the TARDIS _this_ time. 'Invasion by historical reenactment' wouldn't have been the Mistress' first guess, but it was far from the strangest thing that had ever happened to the two of them.   
  
                She did have to nix an insipid blond boy's wet-eyed request to join them on their interstellar picaresque.  The Mistress managed to dispose of the threat to their cozy, intimate lifestyle with a well-timed incapacitating punch while the Doctor's back was turned. Pretty boy would live, but he didn't get in any more of the sort of wibbling about 'seeing the stars' that melted the Doctors' tender hearts. Her Doctor so often got saddled with attractive yet annoying youngsters, and the Mistress was well done with tag-alongs now that they were properly living together. There would be no sharing of the Doctor, unless it was with her/himself, ta very much.

 

The other Time Lady rewarded her handsomely that evening for not having abetted any evil all day. The Mistress thus considered the whole Titanic affair a net win.

                  
         


End file.
